Come, Josephine

Chapter 31

Another life
1912

   Rose Dewitt Bukater Hockley sat in the parlour of her husband's house. It was a fine house, with gloriously decorated and furnished rooms. There was nothing more aesthetically pleasing than that house, but nothing within it felt like home. Rose often felt more lost than she cared to admit.
   Her husband was seldom home, and even then he was scarcely good company. He had a furious temper which had not been realised until they were wed; he often beat her when the house was empty. She had thought that he might be a little kinder when she fell pregnant, but that was not the case. No, Caledon Hockley did not ease up on his wife. He was still as brutal, and cruel, and unfair. There would be no end to her torment.
   Still forced to play the role of an ideal wife, she found herself led by the hand at almost every social event and paraded in front of those he wished to impress. He did not care that she was tired, or sick, or unwilling to meet with people she disliked; that did not matter. Instead, she found herself time and time again being shown to the world as his beautiful and docile wife.
   Rose often went to his mills in order to earn his favour. She would wait on him, listen to his woes and try to make him love her in a way that counted. She never doubted that he loved her, only that it was not the love a man ought to have for his wife.
   At the thought of Cal, he arrived home unexpectedly. He marched in, brisk and brash, only halting in the doorway to consult his wife.
   "Rose," he snapped, "come here- we need to get ready for a dinner with Mr Freedle and his wife. We are expected there at seven."
   Rose glanced at the clock. It was half past five.
   "Darling," she said carefully, "I don't believe I am well enough to attend. The physician said that I should have plenty of rest. I'm so sorry, but I have to do what's best-"
   In the time she took to speak, he had strode across the room, arm raised. She instinctively tensed and curled her arms around her middle, shutting her eyes against his stormy glare.
   He halted, eyeing her up and down, before lowering his hand. When she unfurled, he raised it suddenly and sharply and struck her. He grabbed her, dragging her across the room roughly and throwing her over the threshold.
   She looked up, startled, and saw that she was lying at the foot of the stairs. She tried to rise instinctively, for she should not have lost her balance at all, but found it impossible. A yelp rose in her throat, and her eyes caught the already-inflamed mass of her ankle.
   She had not realised Cal was looming over her until he dragged her upright, forcing her towards the stairs, "go! Dress!"
   When he released her, Rose slipped onto her knees, jarring them against the marble. She ignored the dizzying pain and crawled onwards, only pausing when she had reached the top.
   She limped off to her room, supporting herself by the wall alone. When she reached her bed, she threw herself down on it with such force it shook. She sobbed, only the once, before going to the dressing room. Once inside, she locked the door in haste. Then, with silence grace, she opened the wardrobe, scanned the dresses, and sat down in the base of it. She curled her legs in with her and shut the door so that her entire being was in the wardrobe.
   Once safely enclosed, she felt around for the novel she had discarded there. Jane Eyre was one of the many novels she had snuck out of the downstairs library with.
   She opened it, reading by the slither of light that fell through the wardrobe opening. She tried to ignore the splitting headache that sprung from the place where her head hit the floor.
   The next moment, darkness had swallowed her.

   Rose awoke with a jolt. She was in her bed, much to her surprise, and Trudy was stood beside a tall man facing something. A doctor, she realised. They were glancing down at his bag, talking in hushed tones.
"Give Mrs Hockley this twice a day," the doctor said, handing Trudy a vial.
"Will her recovery be swift?"
A heavy sigh, "I cannot be certain. She is fortunate not to have lost the baby."
"She took a fall and hit her head on the stairs, that is all," Trudy said.
"Alas, there is a handprint on her face."
Rose dozed back off once or twice more before she could be fully awake once more. Trudy was still there, but the doctor was gone.
"Miss?" She said tentatively, "are you alright?"
"Yes."
"Did Master do this to you?"
"Yes- Trudy, how am I here? What happened?"
Rose watched as Trudy approached the bed and sat down, "I came to the closet of arrange an outfit for you on Sir's orders, but the door was locked. I used my key, and I found you in the wardrobe. The doctor believes you had a fit. I did not tell him of what I suspected."
"But am I well? What did the doctor say?"
Trudy's eyes fell, "you are mostly well, Miss, but he is concerned about the child."
"What about them?"
"He believes the baby will become any minute, Miss."
Rose startled, "Then where has he gone?"
"Sir dismissed him."
"Then he will be back..." Rose relaxed, but Trudy did not.
"No, Miss, I am not to send for him again, Miss."
"Then what am I to do?"
"I do not know, Miss."

And that was the truth. Dawn came, and a new life with it.
When the new day came, Cal was unimpressed by his new daughter, as Rose had suspected he would be.
Dusk fell, the day left, and so did a life. Mr Caledon Hockley was a widower, his daughter, motherless, the house without a mistress.